Lynette Vinet - Emerald Trilogy 02 Page 11

  “I hope that will always be the case,” he said and kissed her quickly again. Then he left the room, seemingly unable to say anything further.

  Allison sank back against the pillows, a heavenly glow lighting her face and she hugged herself. He loved her! Her prayers had been answered. “Thank you, God, for making him love me,” she whispered. Her hand traced the slight swell of her abdomen. “And thank you for giving me his child.”

  ~

  “Oh, your ladyship, please!”

  Dera heard Katie’s wail as she passed along the hall outside of Cecelia’s room. The door was open and she poked her head in. “What’s the trouble?” she asked and immediately saw the reason for Katie’s distress. A bowl of broth lay on the Persian carpet, the liquid soaking into the expensive fabric.

  Katie was close to tears. “Mrs. Flanders, ma’am, I’m too old for these carryings on. Lady Cecelia refuses to eat a single bite! She knocked the bowl from my own hands with her good arm.”

  “Now, calm yourself,” Dera said firmly. “Find one of the servants to clean up the mess and bring another bowl of broth for her ladyship.”

  “Aye, ma’am,” the woman said in a shaky voice. “I was trained to be a lady’s maid, not a nursemaid,” she grumbled as she left the room. Dera took a deep breath and entered. Cecelia was sitting up in bed, her frail form supported by a mound of pillows behind her and on either side. Her face was turned away, her eyes tightly shut, giving Dera an opportunity to gaze around the room which had been hers so many years ago when she had been married to Avery Fairfax.

  She found there had been many changes in the furnishings. The wallpaper was different, and the drapes were no longer beige but deep purple. Dera thought the room resembled a darkened catacomb for the woman who rested upon the bed. However, the tapestry of the stag hunt still graced one wall, and she smiled in reminiscence. The tapestry belonged to the Flannery family; the stag was part of their coat of arms in ancient times.

  Turning around, she started when she realized that Cecelia watched her. Suddenly she felt like the young, ignorant girl she had been so many years ago who had allowed herself to be cheated out of her husband’s property. If Cecelia hadn’t been so conniving, Paul would never have had to marry Allison to claim his father’s home. The Flannery family would have lived here these past twenty-five years in peace. But she wasn’t a stupid girl any longer. She was a grown woman with her own home an ocean away and married to the man she loved. Cecelia couldn’t hurt her ever again. The woman was only to be pitied, not hated and feared.

  She inwardly composed herself and managed a small but polite smile. Cecelia’s eyes narrowed in the familiar way Dera remembered, shooting sparks of instant recognition. Her mouth remained twisted. “I gather you remember me, Lady Cecelia. I don’t believe I’ve changed overmuch—just a few gray streaks in my hair.” Dera moved closer to the bed. “I’ve asked Katie to fetch another bowl of broth. You must be hungry. It really was rather rude of you to knock the bowl from her hands. She is only trying to help you, and you’re lucky that anyone wants to help you at all.”

  A flicker of anger passed across Cecelia’s eyes. Dera was immediately sorry for saying such a horrible thing to the paralyzed woman but refused to apologize. A part of her still wanted to wound Cecelia. “My son married your niece—but you know that. I don’t approve of his choice, though I have nothing against Allison personally. But as we all know Flannery and Fairfax blood doesn’t mix. I don’t condone my son’s methods, but I can’t control his life. However, as I recall, you loved to control other people’s lives. I haven’t forgotten or forgiven you for what you did to me all those years ago.”

  Dera stood above her, wondering what Cecelia would say to her if she could speak. There was only a spasmodic movement of her left hand as she grasped the bed cover in impotent rage. “However, my lady, you did me a great service when you illegally claimed this house. Your greed allowed me to have my heart’s desire, my Quint. If I had remained in Ireland, we would have been permanently parted, and that would have been worse than anything. But I forget that you have love for only one thing: Fairfax Manor. People mean nothing to you.”

  At that moment Katie arrived with the broth. “Now, your ladyship, please don’t be giving me a hard time of it. Drink your nice broth,” she pleaded, warily eyeing the old woman.

  “I’ll take it,” Dera said and took the bowl. “Her ladyship will eat for me.”

  “Oh, ma’am, I don’t think you should. Her ladyship is peculiar about such things.”

  “Then her ladyship will have to learn when one is unable to feed oneself, one either lets oneself be fed or starves to death.” Dera shot a sharp, penetrating glance at Cecelia. “And I doubt very much if her ladyship wishes to die.”

  Dera pulled a chair close to the bed, filled the spoon with the liquid and raised it to Cecelia’s mouth. The woman closed her eyes and clamped her lips in defiance, and Dera wondered if she would refuse to swallow or if the bowl would be knocked from her hands. With difficulty, she fitted the spoon between Cecelia’s lips. “Swallow, your ladyship!”

  Dera’s commanding tone caused Cecelia’s eyes to snap open and, acknowledging defeat, she reluctantly swallowed the broth. “Very good. Now again.” Each time, she did as she was told, and Dera knew how much it hurt Cecelia’s pride to be fed by her like a helpless infant. The tables were indeed turned. Now Dera had the upper hand. When she finished, Dera gave the bowl back to Katie who hovered near by, then stood up and briskly rearranged the pillows around Cecelia. “I hope you realize how precious life is, your ladyship. Even yours.” She turned and left the room, unaware that a single tear slipped down Cecelia’s wrinkled cheek.

  As Dera descended the staircase into the entrance hall, she passed a servant polishing a table nearby and bade her a good morning. She heard laughter coming from the drawing room and, opening the door, she found Quint and two of the tenants toasting one another. “To your son and his wife,” one of the men proposed.

  “Aye, I reluctantly drink to that. The marriage restored my home to me,” Quint said. “Now I have a toast. May the devil take all the Fairfaxes!”

  “Aye, and keep them,” they agreed with one voice.

  “Quint! Are you mad?” Dera cried as she rushed into the room. “Allison is your daughter-in-law, and this is her home!”

  Hot sparks emanated from her violet eyes, and Quint sheepishly grinned. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I got carried away.” He patted one of the men on the back. “You remember Sean Lacey, and old Dabney Donahue. These fellows were my staunch supporters when we lit the torch to burn the English dogs from their homes.”

  They bowed. “Good day to you, ma’am,” said Sean. “I guess you don’t remember us.”

  “Yes, I remember you both.” Dera was very upset. These men could easily betray Quint to the authorities if they wished. How many other people on the estate had recognized him and could point the finger at him, accusing him of Avery Fairfax’s murder?

  “I’ll see you lads later,” Quint said in a low voice, realizing that Dera was considerably perturbed.

  “Aye,” Dabney said, and Sean wished Dera a good day, patting Quint on the back.

  After they left, Dera stood rigid with arms akimbo. “God, Quint, you’re a fool to show your face!”

  “They’re old friends, my sweetheart. They won’t be turning me in.”

  “You can’t be certain. Remember, you thought Jem McConnell was your friend and he betrayed you and your cause to the authorities.”

  He swaggered over and pulled her against him. “Jem was scum. Sean and Dabney are honest and trustworthy. They’re the only ones who know who I am. I have to see some friends while we’re here, Dera. You don’t expect me to sit with Lady Cecelia hour after hour and while away the time, do you?”

  “I just visited with her. She is pitiful, Quint. I never thought I’d say this, but I feel sorry for her.”

  “The bitch got her just desserts. Did you speak to her?�
��

  “Not much—but I helped feed her. She can do nothing for herself.”

  Dark fury stained Quint’s face, and he grabbed her arms. “You fed that bitch her lunch?”

  “Yes,” said Dera evenly, meeting his glare with a steady gaze.

  He looked so baffled that she almost had the inclination to laugh. “I’ll never understand you, woman!”

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed his warm lips. “And I’ll always understand you,” she said, smiling.

  He relaxed a bit, and his expression softened as he nuzzled her neck. “Let’s go upstairs and you can show me just how much you do understand, Dera Flannery.”

  She smiled impishly. “With pleasure.”

  They laughed, locked in each other’s arms, then went upstairs, oblivious to the servant who watched them and slithered from her position behind the door outside the drawing room. She held her dust rag in mid-air, flummoxed by the sight of him. But it was him! She had to lean against the door jamb for support. Her heart hammered so hard in her chest she thought it would explode in a thousand pieces.

  He hadn’t changed much, only turned silver-haired. He was still the man she had lain with all those years ago, still the man she had loved. As cruel fate would have it, he had ended up with Dera. Peg McConnell clenched her teeth. Life wasn’t fair! She should be the one beside him now. Instead, here she stood, old and wrinkled before her time, a servant in his son’s home.

  She wondered if she still loved Quint. But no, she couldn’t love a man who had betrayed her as if she were a common trollop. And that was exactly what she had become after he lost interest in her. However, he owed her something for old times’ sake, and for Beth, the child she had born in shame. Quint Flannery would pay for her suffering, and pay dearly!

  “Peg!” Cook bellowed from the hallway. “Hurry up with the polishing and come help me with the baking.”

  “Aye, I’m coming,” she said, withdrawing from her reverie. “I’ve got lots to do…”

  13

  Beth walked slowly along the road which led to Athlone, knowing that if she didn’t hurry, she’d never get there before dark since it was now well after midday. She had wanted to start earlier but her duties had prevented it. However, Miss Allison had allowed her two days holiday for Christmas when Beth had told her that a friend who had once worked for Lady Fairfax was ill and needed her help. Well, that was partly true. She did know Salley Dugan, a former kitchen girl at the manor, who had married a shopkeeper in Athlone. But she hadn’t seen or heard from Salley in over a year and had no intention of seeing her. Her journey to Athlone was shameful to her and with each step she took, her fear and guilt increased.

  Around her right thigh she had tied a kerchief filled with the few gold coins that she had managed to save over the years. She didn’t have much, and she hoped it would be enough to pay for the job. Suddenly she hid her face in her hands, nearly stumbling. “Holy Father, please don’t condemn me to the fires of Hell,” she prayed silently.

  She heard the rumble of a cart behind her, and turning around, she groaned audibly. Patrick! It seemed no matter where she lately went, he was there always watching her. Well she’d just shoo him on his way. At the moment she couldn’t deal with his prying.

  He halted the cart alongside her and grinned, his white teeth flashing in his handsome face. “Where you heading. Beth?” he asked.

  “I’m off to Athlone to visit my friend Salley Dugan.”

  “Salley, is it? Aye, I remember the lass. Come, jump on and sit beside me. I’ll be giving you a ride.”

  She shook her head. “Nay, I told you where I’m headed.”

  He extended a huge hand in her direction. “So am I. I have supplies to buy in Athlone. There’s no need for you to walk when I can take you there. Come along, Beth.” Patrick had unknowingly embroiled her in a trap of her own making. She couldn’t refuse him now that he knew where she was going and it would look peculiar if she wanted to walk the distance. She realized that her feet did hurt and her head ached, besides the fact that she felt sick to her stomach and was cold. She grabbed his hand and pulled herself into the cart, sitting next to him. His pleasure at having her near was obvious in his dazzling smile, and she wondered how he’d react if he knew she was going to Athlone to rid herself of her unborn baby.

  Beth clutched a fold of her cloak in fear, hoping there would be no pain. She really had no idea what would happen once she found the address she had memorized from a piece of paper given to her by a downstairs maid at the manor. She had asked the woman in a roundabout way if she knew of anyone who helped girls in trouble, since Beth had a “friend” who was in the family way. Beth didn’t know if the woman doubted her story, but at least she’d not say anything—Beth had repaid her by giving her a pretty shawl that Miss Allison had given her last Christmas.

  “You’re always so quiet these days, Beth.” Patrick’s voice brought her back to the present and she shrugged.

  “You’re giving me a ride, not engaging me in conversation.”

  Patrick grinned, his hair gleaming in the sunlight. “I see you’re picking up the gentry’s way of speaking.”

  “And what is wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. I’m glad you’re improving yourself. You’re real smart. I never told you but I’m proud you’ve got such a fine position at the manor.”

  She cocked her head to one side, examining him. Patrick always kept her off guard, surprising her. She’d never understand him. They rode for a while in silence until he fidgeted, his brows drawing together in an expression of distaste. “How is Sir Howard?”

  She stiffened at the question and shifted her eyes to the donkey’s back as it shuffled along. “I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t know how he is.”

  “You haven’t been seeing him?”

  “My business is not your concern, Patrick, and I’d be grateful if you’d not mention him to me again!”

  He jiggled the reins, urging the animal along. “I only hope your good sense has returned,” was all he replied. He said nothing else for the rest of the way until they arrived in Athlone. “Tell me Salley’s address and I’ll leave you there,” he suggested.

  Her curls bobbed, she shook her head so hard. “I’ll get there by myself, thank you,”

  “Beth, you’ve never been in Athlone before. You’ll be getting yourself lost.”

  Patrick’s concern suddenly infuriated her. She shouted at him, “I don’t need you to look after me! I’m not a child! Be gone with you and go about your own business!” Beth scampered out of the cart, then ran off like a frightened fox, turning onto a side street. After she had caught her breath, she asked a passerby if he could assist her, and was directed a few streets away into an unsavory section of town where tiny, unkempt houses huddled together. Searching for the proper house, she was accosted by a drunken man who tried to grab her, but she hurried past him.

  When she found the address, she was surprised to see that it wasn’t as terrible as she feared. Of all the houses on the road, this one was the prettiest and well-tended. A dressmaker’s sign hung in the window. Its wholesome appearance gave her the hope that her ordeal wouldn’t be so horrible.

  Beth’s knock was answered by a red-haired woman who smiled sweetly. “What can I do for you, my dear?”

  She had no voice, barely managing to stammer, “My—my friend—Kitty O’Shea sent me … she said you might help me.”

  The woman poked her head out the door and looked around, then rested her gaze on Beth. “Aye, I know her. Come inside.”

  Beth followed her into a clean and tidy blue parlor, and her uneasiness began to melt away. “This is such a pretty room,” she said.

  “Aye, my business pays well.”

  “I’ve always liked to sew, too, but I didn’t know it paid so well,” Beth said.

  “You are a young one,” the woman said and laughed.

  “I’m five and twenty, ma’am!” Beth took offense, feeling that the woman was making fun of
her,

  “Are you now?” A hardness filled the woman’s eyes. “Then you’re old enough not to have gotten yourself in this trouble.” She beckoned Beth to follow her. “Come on. You’re not my concern. I just hope you can pay for my services.”

  “Aye, that I can,” Beth said and pulled up her skirt to untie the kerchief. “I’ve got some gold pieces here.”

  The woman grabbed the small bundle, counted the money and pocketed it. “It will do,” she said. “Now come in the back room and we’ll take care of your problem.”

  The back room was small and crowded with dressmaker forms, threads and needles, and pictures of the latest frocks from Paris. Against a far wall was a small cot. The woman waved Beth over to it and told her to remove her clothes. “I hope you have a place to stay afterwards,” she told her, “You’ll need to rest a bit.”

  “I planned to take a room at the inn,” said Beth. She hadn’t told the woman she had an extra gold piece hidden in her shoe to pay for the room.

  “That’s wise, because you won’t feel much like traveling.”

  “Is it—painful?” Beth whispered.

  The woman shrugged. “Can’t say. Never had the experience myself. “ She turned her back and rooted through a drawer while Beth slowly began to take off her cloak and dress.

  What am I doing here? she silently asked herself. Her hands trembled and she doubted she’d ever be able to undo the back buttons, but at last they opened and she pulled off the gown and waited in her chemise. She suddenly realized she didn’t even know the woman’s name, and she didn’t want to. Standing beside the cot Beth watched as the woman pulled the longest needle Beth had ever seen out of the drawer. Was she going to sew now, of all times?

  The woman advanced toward her, holding the needle aloft. “What you waiting for, girl, an invitation? Lie down and spread your legs. I ain’t got all day.”

  Beth’s mouth dried up, and her heart knocked inside her chest. “What—what’s that for?” she asked, terrified that she knew the answer.